𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼 [1]

4. {Get Out}

Late into the night, the weight of the day's events still lingers heavily on your shoulders as you sit alone in your apartment, nursing a glass of your favourite beverage. The dim glow of the television casts a flickering light across the room, but your mind remains elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the recent briefing.

With a heavy sigh, you reach for your phone, contemplating whether to text Steve, Bucky or anyone for that matter. You stare at the screen for a moment, the soft glow illuminating your face in the darkness. The urge to reach out is strong, but you hesitate, unsure of what to say. After a moment of indecision, you set your phone aside, deciding it's best to let things be.

Just as you're about to turn off the television and call it a night, a sharp knock at the door jolts you from your thoughts. Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze, your hand hovering over the remote. It's late, and you're in no mood for visitors.

Reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of the couch, setting your glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. Your footsteps echo through the quiet apartment as you make your way to the door, your mind racing with a mix of irritation and curiosity.

As you reach the door, you peer through the peephole, your breath catching in your throat as you catch sight of the figure standing on the other side. It's Bucky, his silhouette outlined against the dimly lit hallway.

Your jaw tightens at the sight of him, a surge of frustration coursing through you. What could he possibly want at this hour? You debate ignoring him, but the persistent knocking urges you to confront him.

"Fuck off, Barnes," you call out, your voice tinged with irritation as you rise from your seat, the floorboards creaking beneath your weight. "I'm not in the mood."

But Bucky refuses to relent, his voice echoing through the door with a sense of urgency. "Open the door Y/N," he insists, his tone firm and unwavering.

Your patience wearing thin, you clench your fists at your sides, a growl escaping your lips. "No." You answer through gritted teeth, your voice carrying a sharp edge as you glare at the door.

But Bucky's persistence knows no bounds. The knocking grows louder, more insistent, each rap against the door echoing through the quiet apartment like a drumbeat. Your frustration mounts with each passing moment, your irritation boiling over.

With a frustrated huff, you reach for the safety chains, your fingers trembling slightly as you unhook them one by one. The sound of metal sliding against metal fills the air, a harsh reminder of the intrusion about to take place.

As you swing the door open, your gaze meets Bucky's, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway. "What part of  fuck off  do you not understand?" you seethe, your voice laced with venom as you meet his gaze head-on.

Bucky's eyes narrow, a flash of irritation crossing his features as he meets your glare with equal intensity. "The part where you think I give a fuck about what you want," he retorts sharply, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You refuse to respond and move to slam the door shut, but Bucky reacts swiftly, catching it with ease before it can close fully. With a firm grip, he pushes the door open further, his resolve unyielding as he steps inside your apartment, ignoring your protests.

You stagger back, taken aback by his audacity, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him invade your space with brazen disregard. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" you demand, your voice rising with indignation as you stare him down.

As you stand there, bewildered by Bucky's audacity, you steel yourself for another verbal onslaught. Yet, to your astonishment, he remains silent. Instead, he swiftly closes the distance between you, catching you off guard. He seizes the hem of your shirt, forcefully pulling you towards him. Your breath catches in your throat as his touch sparks a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.